


Cumulative effort

by jamjar



Category: Good Omens
Genre: Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2003, recipient:Vensre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-19
Updated: 2009-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-04 14:58:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamjar/pseuds/jamjar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The effects of the centuries (or any small efforts can have big effects, given enough time).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cumulative effort

 

## Cumulative effort

  
Fandom: [Good Omens](http://yuletidetreasure.org/get_fandom_quicksearch.cgi?Fandom=Good%20Omens) Written for: Vensre in the Yuletide 2003 Challenge by [magpie](http://yuletidetreasure.org/cgi-bin/contact.cgi?filename=0/cumulativeeffort)

_3500 BC_

Crawly slithered through the branches. He was still playing around with his body, with the depth of it, and hadn't quiet got used to the way muscles felt when you used them. It was kind of addictive, actually, to feel these things inside you working, moving, pushing you along. And snakes did it so much better than anyone else, sleek and elegant. He tasted the air shiftily and then went a little deeper into the body. Oh yeah, that was the stuff. Super real, and he caught one of the tree frogs and swallowed it down just for the thrill of it. Fun.

Night was a bitch, but he borrowed a few tricks from the mammals and kept at it. Not quite as fun, though there was a certain thrill in leaping out at all the night hunters, since most of the world was asleep.

Maybe that was something to try next. It seemed to be very popular. Winter, maybe, he'd try and see what the other snakes- what the snakes, he corrected himself. He was a demon- did. Of course, he'd have to go somewhere were there was a winter first, or at least clear out of this place before the rainy season started up again.

He noticed the other snake and ignored her. Most snakes gave him a clear berth, sensing that this was a snake to avoid. Except for the bloody grassnakes, cocky venomless bastards. Crawly did wonder what she was doing up this late. Had snakes started doing the nocturnal route too? When had that happened?

To his surprise, instead of avoiding him, she headed straight towards him. Ah. Probably the warmth. He was the hottest thing there, and he was snake enough to know the appeal of good warm patch. He made to get away, but with a surprising burst of speed, she set on him and started wrapping her body around him.

Bloody cheek! Did he look like a miniature sun, dammit? If she wanted warmth, she could wait until morning. He hissed at her to get away, but she wasn't taking any notice, and he prepared a little blast of power when his body, quite independently, sent certain signals that getting away was not an option. He thought about disregarding it for a moment, but curiosity got the better of him.

Curiosity was always his biggest fault.

 

_Babylon, approx. 1000 years BC _

Crowley liked Babylon. He liked the people, he liked the wine- especially the wine- and he wasn't displeased to note that an angel had set up shop there.

Literally. Selling scrolls, or at least, storing them under the pretence of selling them. The angel showed a surprising amount of possessiveness over his stock, and did everything possible to stop customers coming into his shop. Hmm. Maybe he'd go and threaten to buy something. The angel's reactions as he tried everything short of divine retribution to get Crowley to stop touching his precious scrolls were always fun to watch.

He turned down the street and saw the shop- still there, though it had been a few decades. And there was Aziraphale, seeing off a customer. He opened his mouth to call and shut it abruptly as the angel kissed his customer. Well now. Unless Babylon had changed a lot since the last time he was here, that was no way to stop people buying your wares.

This went on for a while. Crowley was pretty good at reading body language, and they both seemed to have a certain familiarity with the situation. The man had his hand on the angel's shoulder and they stopped kissing to say something, soft and friendly, and then the man said goodbye with another kiss and walked looking cheerful and, if Crowley was any judge, well-laid. The angel watched him go, then turned around to go back inside and saw Crowley.

His expression was almost worth it.

Crowley sauntered up. "My, my. What have you been doing?"

"Um." Aziraphale had started lying over a millennium ago, but hadn't quite got the hang of it yet. "Reading poetry. Yes. We were reading poetry. You know how I like poetry, and I've just this marvellous piece of work by So-"

"Is that what they're calling it now? Reading "poetry", were you?" Crowley looked Aziraphale over. Aziraphale was never quite as good at putting himself together as Crowley- he always gave the impression of being slightly mismatched, even when he wasn't- but he definitely looked rumpled, even for him. And he'd not been keeping an eye on his halo, 'cause the angel was positively glowing. "You seem to like poetry a lot more than I thought you did. And that young man shares your interest?"

"Oh yes," Aziraphale said, giving up. "He is a poet, you know." He sighed. "Fancy a drink?"

 

_Rome, about 0 AD _

"I know, I know, I know," Aziraphale said. "You don't need to keep going on about it." Crowley grinned up at him from where his head was resting on the table, in a way that suggested he did need to, and would, for the foreseeable future. "Your interest is really rather unhealthy," Aziraphale said. "Shouldn't you have moved on to other topics by now?"

"See, now I would have called giving in to mortal desires pretty unhealthy, Aziraphale, especially for an angel with a less than perfect record."

"Really, I think you're making too much of it. It's hardly a sin," said Aziraphale

"Oh, I think I know some people who might disagree with you there."

"Don't be so prudish. Crude lust, selfish desire is, of course, wrong, but uh, choosing to express one's affection in that matter is hardly the same thing. Besides, it can't be a sin, or I would have heard about it by now, surely. They're very prompt on catching angels in, ah, moments of weakness."

"Moments of weakness. That what they're calling it up there now?" Crowley raised an eyebrow; a talent that he felt made it worth going the whole hog with a human appearance. "Maybe you just got lucky in more than one sense and they didn't catch you this time. Or maybe they're just building up the penalties. Seeing if it was a moment of weakness or a bad habit."

"It's not a bad habit! There were three thousand years of mostly-chastity before Marcus and God knows that..."

"Well, yeah, He does. Omniscient, if you believe in that kind of stuff." Crowley made a rude gesture at the ceiling. "Bloody voyeuristic, if you ask me. Wait, mostly?" Crowley said, lifting his head up. "You mean you'd done that before? Not just with the poet."

"Well, sometimes. To be polite. And once or twice out of boredom. Sheer curiosity the first time, I'm afraid." The angel blushed delightfully. "I felt a bit guilty about that, to be honest."

"You really just- curiosity?"

"You've never been curious?" Aziraphale asked, surprised. "I would have thought in your line of work..."

"Well, yes, for the job, but not, you know, personally. And I spent a long time as a snake at first, but it's not the same. Just a drive, not really an interest. Boredom? Is it that interesting? Couldn't you just read a scroll instead?"

Aziraphale shrugged. "I'm not like you, dear boy. I never really got the hang of sleeping, and it was so long before people got into the habit of using writing for more than stock keeping and religion. Uh." He glanced upwards, rather guiltily. "And before paper, it wasn't like literature was easily transportable. Whereas the equipment for sex goes with you."

Crowley shook his head in something between disbelief and amazement. "And the politeness?"

Aziraphale looked down in embarrassment. "I always feel so bad, you know, if someone's made an effort and it's not appreciated."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "They're human, it's not making an effort. It's a biological imperative, for Someone's sake! You don't reward them for following their programming."

Aziraphale looked vaguely hurt. "Now you're just being silly. Of course they make the effort. Regular washing, in the days went that meant breaking a hole in the ice in winter. And poetry too, most of them have- and the little sculptures although some of them were very... I mean I don't know if they were... But they all made the effort." He frowned at Crowley's expression. "Well, it's not like it's that often. You know most people view us as asexual, whether they realise it or not."

This was true. Even snakes generally left Crowley alone. Only the really determined snakes actually went after him.

"S'a lot of effort to go for, for the sake of politeness."

Aziraphale gave the impression of ducking under his wings in embarrassment, although it had been over two thousand years since he's worn them openly. "It's not so bad. You know I'm not as good a liar as you and they can tell when I'm just, ah, putting on the appearance. It upsets them so. Sincerity is really the only that works. Besides," he added, "I don't think it's morally sound, to fool them like that. It's not. Uh. It's not nice."

Crowley looked at him. His eyes were slit, and also blurred, but he still managed to give Aziraphale a look that said he knew angels, and knew that niceness wasn't a divine virtue and certainly not a divine excuse. "'S a long way to go to be nice," he said, after the silence had gone on long enough for Aziraphale to start squirming.

Aziraphale looked away. "Well," he said softly, "it's not like it's any hardship."

 

_Constantinople, 1000 AD _

"So Aziraphale, been polite to anyone recently?"

"Well of course, I always try to... Oh really, Crowley. That joke stopped being funny quite some time ago." Aziraphale glared at him. The effect wasn't as repressive as it could have been, since Crowley was nicely sprawled out on a low couch and pleasantly cushioned by wine.

"Not from where I'm sitting. So, anymore moments of weakness, anymore poets?"

"I don't know why you're so interested in my-" he stopped, embarrassed, then pushed on, "my love-life."

"Your love-life?" Crowley sat up, choking on his wine. "Wait, it has life? Separate to yours?" He grinned, showing his teeth. "Very active, is it? I know angels are meant to love all of God's creatures, but even they need a break every now and then."

"Will you stop talking about it? You make it sound like I'm some kind of..."

"Hussy? An angel of easy virtue? A s-"

"That's enough!" Aziraphale snapped. "You know I don't- often. I don't- it takes energy, Crowley, to love someone personally. Love is- a gift, and one that you have to keep on giving. Or as long as they need it. It's not without its rewards, but it's not always easy, either. You have to devote part of yourself to that person. It's not just a case of making the effort once and buggering off -don't say it."

Crowley shut his mouth obediently, then opened it again. "You're an angel, though. You're meant to love everyone. Isn't that the policy now?"

Aziraphale sighed. "Oh yes, although there are some rather precise definitions of everyone circulating these days, the party line is that one should love all of God's creations. It's not hard to do that. Anyone can love all of creation, as long as they don't look too closely. Most angels can manage it, albeit in a rather impersonal way. It's the details that can cause problems."

"What do you mean?"

"Just that you can love anyone generally, but loving someone specifically can be a bit more problematic." He looked around the room for an example. "I mean, I feel a certain affection for everyone present here, but I am having rather specific trouble with that gentleman over there by the window. The one that keeps waylaying the maid when she's bringing round the pastries."

Crowley waved a hand and the pastries in question appeared in from of Aziraphale. "I really shouldn't," Aziraphale said, before tucking in. There was a semi-companionable silence while they ate. Crowley let Aziraphale finish the baklava, and the next, before he broke it.

"So why do you do it? Wouldn't it be easier to just..." he waved his fingers, "you know, with their minds. Find someone else for them to love."

Aziraphale shrugged and settled back in his seat. "Like I said, it has its own rewards. It can be worth it, more then worth it. And it isn't forever." His voice went down at the last word.

"No. Humans aren't," said Crowley, sympathy masking itself as truth.

Aziraphale shook his head. "No. I mean, most humans usually realize that I'm not a good- choice. Exactly. They find someone- real. More human. You know it takes them effort to think of us like that, too. Given time, most people follow their nature. It's the divine plan, I think. Ineffable."

Crowley looked at him. "Maybe you should lay off it for a while. Desire seems to take a lot out of you."

Aziraphale waved a hand. "No, desire's easy. Barely any effort once you, ah, start the reaction. It's just everything that goes with it. It's- complicated. I don't think I can explain." He took a sip of his wine and smiled. "You know, you spend so much time thinking about my personal involvements. Maybe you should try it for yourself."

 

_London, 1700s _

The ball was a fantasy, filled with the rich, and therefore beautiful (or at least attractive) or those champagne flowed like water as people laughed and flirted and danced.

The last fact rather annoyed Aziraphale, who would rather everyone stopped and just listened to the music. He had no interest in dancing, none, and would rather all the pattering feet removed themselves.

Throughout the crowd, a figure wove its way, lightly, gracefully. Here, a newlywed bride blushed at the man in front of her, who had said nothing inappropriate, hadn't offered anything but the usual pleasantries, and still gave the impression of somehow pressing his suit most delightfully.

There, and the Duke of Northumberland and his oldest son glared at each other while they both gave their best smiles towards the charming young lady, attractive, yet modest, who still managed to seem somehow- open to the possibilities.

Oh, but it was a breathtaking night. Everyone who attended was noble or charming or wealthy or beautiful.

Aziraphale caught Crowley while he was still a woman. He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her off to a corner. "Really, my dear, what are you doing?"

Crowley laughed and fluttered her fan. "Just having some fun, angel." She twirled around. "Do you like the dress?"

Aziraphale paused. "It's very- feminine, isn't it?"

Crowley lowered her eyes demurely. "But so am I, my dear sir."

"There's something different about you," Aziraphale said.

Crowley gestured at her body with her fan.

"No, apart from that. You're- Crowley, are you making an effort?"

Crowley smiled. "Oh, yes. And you were right, you know. Humans do respond to it much better."

"That isn't what I... I thought you didn't like the hands on approach? I thought you said it was inefficient, and you could tempt someone with another someone and get two birds with one stone."

Crowley smiled and drank a glass of champagne that had seconds ago been in the hand of a Prussian widow. "You haven't seen me at work yet. I don't need to do anything." She threw back her head and laughed. "Not. One. Thing. They do it all themselves. I just turn up like this." She gestured at her body. "Or like this, this works too." His hands brushed his suit. "Effort made and they fill in all the blanks. Lust, envy, lust, jealousy, lust."

Aziraphale blinked. "You mean you're, uh, tempting people into adultery."

Crowley shook his head and wobbled slightly. "Not quite. You tempt one person into adultery and fornication, that's just one person, one sin, one time. You know what humans are like, sin and repent, sin and repent. Do something once and it's over. The things that they don't do, though... See me, and start sinning away mentally for days. Years, even. Small effort, big pay-off."

Aziraphale frowned. He really wished Crowley hadn't said that. Now he was going to have to work through the crowd, finding everyone that Crowley affected and stop them thinking so hard about someone they never had. Crowley was right. Covetousness made all the regular sins stick harder in the human mind.

"And you wanna know the best thing?" And when had Crowley got that second glass of champagne? Crowley pressed up against Aziraphale, leaning into him in a way that told Aziraphale Crowley was making a rather large effort. Habit and ingrained manners almost had his body returning the compliment, but he quashed it thoroughly. This was no time to be polite. The arrangement had covered getting each other's drunk forms somewhere safe long before it had touched on the thwarting/tempting side of things. He held Crowley upright with one arm and started steering him towards the door while Crowley mumbled into his coat.

"Best thing is, they pass it on themselves. Lady Wife is distracted with lustful, adulterous thoughts, Lord Husband gets jealous, starts flirting with someone else, she gets jealous back, the woman he was flirting with starts getting prideful and her boy gets jealousy and... One to another, to another." He yawned, stretching his jaw wider than most humans can go. "But really angel, you should have said. A little effort can give such big rewards."

 

_Berlin, 1920s _

Crowley flirted with the barmaid, a pretty, dark girl, fresh from fleeing her family's loving embrace, before pushing her into the arms of the cabaret's pianist, an intelligent young man with the beginnings of a drinking habit and a recent loss of faith Crowley was hoping he would pass on to her.

It was a good time to be alive. The right combination of greed, frivolity and willing blindness to the future that made tempting so easy and such a joy. Oh, some realised what loomed ahead, but no one quite believed it, and they were all having so much fun, they could easily ignore the people who weren't.

And the new technology! Radios! Telephones! Aziraphale regularly sent him gifts of the latest music-playing innovation, gramophones and records and radios. They always managed to find Crowley, no matter where he was, divine guidance having a remarkable effect on the postal service. Crowley would return the favour, sending back music, written or otherwise, from wherever he was, along with letters detailing how Aziraphale could keep the home fires burning while he was on his round the world tour.

Ah, America. Couldn't live there, of course, but a nice place to visit and capable of acts of self-delusion that made him draw a breath. He hadn't been there in so long, not since he ate a strange frog in the jungle that somehow resulted in a religion devoted a feathered serpent god. Not quite the golden calf, and he could never remember most of what he'd done under the influence, so he viewed its demise with a mixture of regret and relief.

Hell had been worried when they heard some of the most religious people from Europe had been planning to make their way there, but Crowley had been on earth for a long time, and knew enough to smile and hitch a ride over when they'd settled down enough to start opening restaurants.

He'd taken the long way back to Europe. The Arrangement worked fairly well over a distance, Aziraphale tweaking things in Europe, while Crowley worked his way across the east and doubled his travel allowance.

Still, letters travelled faster than he did. He opened Aziraphale's latest missive and laid it on the table next to his still in progress reply. He skimmed over the talk about books, raised an eyebrow at some of his plans for Shropshire and jotted a few comments in his reply.

"... think I'm letting you off that work in the North, although I am taking credit for the scones- nice one there. Two temptings in the next week, or you'll be ahead of me on points. Also, tried the divine revelation you suggested, but missed. Priest lost his faith, but his neighbour had joined a monastery so it all evens out."

He scanned down Aziraphale's letter.

"...found the most marvellous place in eat in Deptford, of all places. Next time you're here, you must come with me. Yes, I know what you'll say, but the Ritz isn't the only place that deserves our custom."

Crowley smiled and took another sip of coffee. He could almost see Aziraphale, standing there, slight frown on his head. He probably hadn't changed looks since the last time they met, and that had been- what, over a century ago?

He smiled to himself. It was funny, remembering Aziraphale's expression on their last encounter. Crowley had been so drunk on the novelty of actually giving his body some genuine gender, hormone deep, and the angel had caught some of the fall out from that.

"Would you like anything else?" The barmaid said, leaning over the bar. Crowley frowned. She should be two hours and one drink away from the pianist, what had distracted her from her tempta.... Oh. He waved her away and frowned. His body had started sending out those signals again. Aziraphale had gone on about how you actually had to work to make the effort, but really, once you got the knack it wasn't difficult to switch that aspect of it on.

Did it by itself, half the time.

 

_London, 2000 _

Crowley always stopped breathing before he visited Aziraphale's bookshop. The dust was enough to make most humans uncomfortable, yet another of Aziraphale's sale-avoidance techniques.

The layout was another. The shelves were placed too close together and piles of books were set out to block trip, or crush the unwary customer. Aziraphale drew the line at actually using divine power to prevent anyone entering his shop to do more than ask directions, but Crowley thought it was only a batter of time. "Aziraphale?" He called out. "I'm just coming in."

The angel was sitting on a stool in the back, shirt off and wings out and held just an inch above the floor. He wore glasses and held a book in one hand while the other touched a computer that didn't seem to be attached to a monitor, a keyboard, or in, fact, a power source. Nonetheless, it was whirring along, making the normal computer scratches, pings and whistles. Crowley was vaguely amused to realise that it was actually making a passable attempt at Beethoven's Ode-to Joy.

He took a few moments to appreciate the sight. There was something so very Aziraphale about it. His wings, which, like Crowley he usually kept tucked well in, were a wheaty-oaty-grain colour, and his fingers itched to do some grooming. "What are you doing to that computer?" He asked.

Aziraphale looked up. His eyes were half-focussed on something most humans probably couldn't see and Crowley could feel the hum of divine power at work.

"Do you have any idea how much happiness I can generate by doing this?" Aziraphale asked, keeping one hand on the computer. "A thousand people around the world are going online with no pop-ups, no page not founds, no servers not responding, no spam. Of course, I can only keep it up for a few hours before the inherent malignancy in some areas reasserts itself, but while it's going..." He shot Crowley a blissed out smile. "In your terminology, my dear, feel the love. It restores their faith. Even the atheists." He lifted his hand off the computer with some reluctance and focussed on Crowley. "I've been keeping an eye on your flat like you asked. What have you been doing to those poor plants?"

Crowley grinned. "Organic gardening, angel. No fertilisers, no fungicides, just good, old fashioned attention."

"No insecticides, either," Aziraphale said rather archly. "But I suppose that takes away the thrill of the hunt."

Aziraphale stretched out. His wings half-lifted and his back arched a little and the dust caught in the autumn sunlight made it look like his halo was still in effect, although Crowley knew Aziraphale only used it when he was reading at night. He was more openly angelic than he had been in a while, which would have been disturbing if he hadn't looked so definitely -Aziraphale. As if the wings and almost-halo just made the rest of him, the glasses and obsession with rare books and regency snuff boxes, stand out more in contrast.

His wings really did need grooming. "Haven't seen you like this in a while,"_Crowley said.

Aziraphale shrugged, a movement that started with his shoulders and carried on to the tips of his feathers, making it rather more impressive than it normally would have been. "They do get cramped it I keep them in too long," he said. He twitched his wings again. Crowley could almost see the dust from the bookshop settling in to them.

"Don't you ever groom them?" He said with some irritation.

Aziraphale blinked. "When I remember. I don't fly much these says, so it doesn't come up much." Crowley raised an eyebrow. Aziraphale ducked his head in embarrassment. "I do try," he added in a tiny voice.

Crowley let out an exasperated breath. "It's not a mortal sin to care about your appearance, you know. Here, hold them up while I try and repair some of the damage."

Aziraphale hesitated.

"What, don't you trust me?" Crowley said, putting on his least trustworthy expression. He smiled, to show more teeth than most humans manage. "See, I was just thinking that they must get itchy, like that. I know my feathers start feeling uncomfortable if I don't groom them regularly. You know what it's like, when they just won't lay right, and there's always at least one feather that's just on this side of painful and..."

"Alright, alright. And stop smiling," Aziraphale said testily. He turned his back to Crowley and spread his wings out.

Crowley stood behind him and reached out to stroke along the flat of one wing, assessing the damage. He felt Aziraphale's wings tremble slightly under his touch, so he leaned over and said, "Feeling a little nervous, are we?"

"It's been a long time since anyone else took care of them," Aziraphale said apologetically. "And you're not helping. I know you only hiss when you want to annoy me."

Crowley grinned and backed off a little to start grooming seriously. Loose feathers, feathers lying wrong and the dust. He tsked under his breath, stopped when he realised how Aziraphale a sound that was, and got to work.

It was actually kind of soothing. It had been, well, another life, really, since he'd been this close to an angel's wings without, you know, trying to rip them off. It felt familiar, but strange, soothing, but not. Aziraphale's wings steadied and he settled in to it, breathing slow, regular breaths that got Crowley breathing again out of habit. Utterly familiar feel of Aziraphale's presence, mixed in with a sense of novelty that made it an interestingly comfortable kind of excitement. He was close enough that he could smell Aziraphale. Aziraphale smelt of tea and digestive biscuits, modern scents that ran over the older, more familiar smells of books, honey, frankincense and red wine.

They were human scents, which was reassuring, because the soft buzz of divine power under his fingers put him on edge. It didn't hurt exactly, just left his fingers feeling sensitised, waiting. No pain yet, but his nerves were heightened in anticipation of it. Pain. Or, something else.

They both realised at the same moment what their bodies were doing. Crowley stepped back quickly and Aziraphale stood up and started talking quickly.

"Ah, I think that's enough for now, don't want to..." he turned around and looked at Crowley's equally appalled expression. Both of them had immediately returned their bodies to their normal, baseline sexless state, but the idea of it was still hanging in the air. "Uh."

"Yes." Crowley said. "Uh. Just, uh, habit I guess. Got a mind of its own these days."

"Not used to all the contact," Aziraphale said. "I think it, uh, got a bit confused."

"Yes," Crowley said. He searched for something to say and came up almost blank. "Uh, drink?"

Aziraphale went weak with relief. "Oh yes, definitely. Excellent suggestion."

London, Twenty-first century Crowley woke up to the feel of someone watching him. This prompted him to break his usual policy of slow easing into consciousness and his eyes snapped awake to find Aziraphale lying next to him, propped up on one elbow and starring at him.

Being a demon means having a near perfect memory, however much one might wish it wasn't so, which meant that Crowley didn't have any pleasant morning amnesia. Instead he woke up with the exact and detail filled memory of what they had done last night.

"Good morning," Aziraphale said.

Crowley wasn't quite sure of the answer to that, so he gave a noncommittal shrug. He checked his body and found that it was still pretty much on, and thought about turning it off, but then he suspected Aziraphale hadn't gone back to normal himself yet. Maybe he was just being polite, giving Crowley desire out a sense of courtesy.

"Have you been watching me long?" Crowley asked.

Aziraphale shrugged and sat up a bit. "You fell asleep after, and you know I've never got the hang of it."

So he'd stayed here all night, watching Crowley sleep? That was rather disconcerting. Or maybe it was normally, standard operating procedure. Crowley's experience in morning-afters was pretty limited. He felt completely lost and suddenly, desperately, wanted everything back to normal.

But Aziraphale was still there, being polite, and acting like it wasn't anything special after they'd... Crowley stopped thinking about that before his body started making even more of an effort than it was already.

"Tea?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley nodded. "On your nightstand," Aziraphale said, and it was.

Crowley sat up and took a sip of liquid comfort, letting it make everything a bit more bearable. Aziraphale was doing the same he noticed, and there was a strange sympathy of position. He didn't know what Aziraphale was thinking and that left him feeling adrift and vulnerable and out of his depth, but he was sitting in the same bed, in the same position and tasting the familiar, tarry taste of lapsang souchang. That was something.

He wondered what Aziraphale was thinking and decided he didn't want to know. He wondered if he should disappear now, before Aziraphale got up, or at least put his clothes on, but he didn't know if that would make him look calm and collected, or terrified and trying to escape, or worse, prudish. He finished his cup and made another, then drank that too waiting of inspiration, or failing that, a lightning bolt, to strike. By the window a hardy cyclamen bloomed furiously and Crowley glared at it. At least something was happy with this turn of events.

He had to say something. Offer breakfast? At least eating together would put them back on normal ground. "Food? Breakfast at the Ritz, or there's a good greasy spoon around the corner."

"Yes, that sounds nice." Aziraphale took another sip of tea and started to get out of bed. Crowley watched him, slightly amused by the way Aziraphale never let go of his mug while dressing. Aziraphale took a while to dress since he didn't just cause his clothes to appear on him, and Crowley made a note to vanish any wrinkles before he left the flat. Aziraphale turned to look at him. "Crowley? Aren't you coming?"

Crowley was dressed and out of bed instantly. He put on his sunglasses and was surprised by how much better he felt with them on. "Let's go. And, uh, thanks, I guess?"

Aziraphale blinked. "For what?"

"Last night. Being polite and all. Making the effort."

Aziraphale smiled, sudden and strong enough that Crowley wondered if he was letting his halo through. "Oh no, Crowley. It was no effort at all." He looked down at his cup of tea. "Really, more of a case of not having to, you know, not anymore. That is to say, it's been more effort not to- around you, than it was to- do."

Oh.

Well, that was...

Crowley smiled.

End.

 Please [post a comment](http://yuletidetreasure.org/cgi-bin/comment.cgi?filename=0/cumulativeeffort&filetype=html&title=Cumulative%20effort) on this story. Read [posted comments](http://yuletidetreasure.org/archive/0/cumulativeeffort_cmt.html).


End file.
